


She

by arcadegames



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 07:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadegames/pseuds/arcadegames
Summary: Five times Bender saw Allison, and one time she saw him.





	She

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t think there’s enough bender/allison fics out there so here’s my take on what bender might’ve meant when he said “i’ve seen you before, you know”

The first time Bender had seen her was at a gas station.

It was late. He and some friends had been driving around for a while, just because none of them really wanted to go home. The guy driving—they called him Hollywood, though no one was sure what his real name was—said he needed gas. 

They pulled into a dingy old gas station that almost looked abandoned on first sight. It was dark, but he could make out a painted wooden sign that said Dean’s. The last two letters had almost faded away, but they were there nonetheless. Only one of the outside lights were on, but from what he could see, the inside looked alright. 

Bender went in to get a six-pack and some smokes while Hollywood filled up the tank. He was about to walk in, when he noticed a girl sitting on the store corner. She had her back against the wall, and her knees pulled almost all the way up to her chest, blocked by a gray bag she was holding on to for dear life. 

Bender was taken aback by the look in her eyes. She was staring straight ahead, focused on nothing, but her eyes were so melancholy he almost felt bad for her. She glanced at Bender, and her eyes went wide with fear. She clutched her bag closer to her chest. 

Bender had thought she was just crazy, or tripping, or something. He walked into the door, got what he came in for, and walked up to the man behind the counter. He looked to be in his late fifties, with wrinkly skin and graying hairs. 

“There’s some freak sitting outside your store, you know,” Bender says. 

“Oh, she’s no harm. She looks so young, I can’t bring myself to get her to leave,” the old man tells him, with a voice that sounds like he’s been smoking for years. 

Bender paid and left. When he came out of the gas station, she was gone. He stopped and stared at the spot where she had been, but he didn’t know why. Something about her was off.

“What the hell are you doing, dickhead? Get in the truck!” He heard one of his friends yell. He shook off the weird feeling about the girl, and got in. 

————

The second time he had seen her was in a back alley.

He was waiting to buy some dope. The sun was starting to set, and it was turning the sky a mix of oranges and reds. Bender pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, then a lighter. When he finished smoking, he let it fall to the ground and go out when it fell on damp concrete. 

Not long after, two guys came around the corner where Bender was standing. He wasn’t worried about them. They looked to be younger than him—they were smaller, too. He thought they were probably just running around looking for trouble. 

One of them was most likely a year or two older than the other. He was wearing a black tank-top and old jeans. He said something to the younger one, who was wearing a bright orange hoodie that could give anyone a headache, but Bender was too far away to hear.

He wouldn’t have categorized them as particularly stupid, had they not tried to jump him, but they did. They were on top of him quick, which he didn’t expect, and he fell on his back, feeling the moisture from the ground soak into his clothes. 

Even two against one, Bender could pack a punch hard enough to win any fight. They got a couple of hits in on him too, but they would end up suffering more damage. He could see blood coming from one of their noses, and he thought he got the older one in the jaw pretty good. 

They let up on him for a split second. He pulled out his knife. It sent the young one running, and while the other was staring after him, Bender threw a punch and knocked him to the ground. He hit him a couple more times just to get the point across. 

He picked the guy up by the collar of his shirt. “Now get the hell out of here,” Bender spat. He listened.

Slipping the knife back in his pocket, he pulled out another cigarette and put it in his mouth. Just as he was about to light it, something caught his eye. He turned his head and saw a girl. There wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary about that if it wasn’t the same girl from the gas station. 

She was staring at him. She didn’t have a broken look in her eyes this time, or a scared one, though Bender thought she should have if she had witnessed what just happened. Instead, she looked sort of smug, like she was proud of something. It freaked him out.

“What?” he said. 

She didn’t answer.

“You been there this whole time?” He finally got around to lighting that cigarette. “Ground’s kinda wet to be sitting on it, don’t you think?”

She smiled, got up, and walked away. Bender was left with an odd feeling again. He wanted to know more about this girl.

————

He had seen her for the third time at Saturday detention.

She came in, walking fast, head down, and sat in the corner of the room. Everyone else was probably thinking it’s weird, but Bender doesn’t have to, because he already knows that. Seems like her, is what ran through his mind.

Then he realized that her parents are the ones who nearly ran him over. Which means she has parents that will take her to detention, willingly. And that means she’s probably living with them, and she’s not homeless. Now that, he thought, is weird.

It didn’t make any sense. Surely she has to be out on the streets more than she is off of them? She’s got that bag, looks like it’s full of shit, and they’ve run into each other so many times that she’s got be out there more than anyone normally is. He just doesn’t know why she would be there. 

“I’ve seen you before, you know,” he tells her. He wonders why she’s in detention. 

Vernon came in, and he stopped thinking about it. He messed with who he’s dubbed as the stupid wrestling guy, that rich girl, and a socially awkward nerd. He could’ve thrown an insult or two at the weird girl, but he found that he didn’t really want to. Maybe it was sympathy, but how could he sympathize with someone he knew nothing about? 

He got bored. He started thinking about her again, but his theorizing was interrupted by the sound of pencil on paper. He looked back. The girl was drawing. From where he was, he could see that there wasn’t any color, which seemed fitting of her, and it was a good drawing—she was talented, the kind of talented you don’t see everyday. 

She shook dandruff out of her hair and onto the paper. Bender made a face that was quite the opposite of the look of happiness on her’s. He’s friends some pretty out-there people, but he doesn’t know anyone who would even think to do something like that. It fascinated him, in a disgusting, but still good, sort of way. 

He still didn’t know her name. He felt like it’s the kind of thing he should know by now, even though they had never actually spoken before. He felt like she had talked in her own roundabout manner, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was she had said, exactly. 

Later, he learned that her name was Allison. She hadn’t been the one to tell him, Andy had, but he wanted to tell her it was a beautiful name. He probably wouldn’t have, given the chance, but it was true, and it suited her perfectly. It made him  
wish she had just asked her, even if she wouldn’t have answered. 

He had been the one to tell Vernon she doesn’t talk, because he had been the only one that knew. Sure, the others hadn’t heard her talk so far, but none of them had really tried to talk to her either. Bender had. She’d never responded, but the look in her eyes said something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

When they snuck out of detention, Allison had been the last one to follow Andy. Right before she had turned around, she gave him a look. It wasn’t just a look, though. It meant something. 

“I’m sorry,” her eyes said, “I don’t want to go with Andy, but everyone else is. I don’t want to leave you here either. Come with us?” It was the first thing he had understood. He answered her by running after them.

Andy led them to a dead end, and Claire’s the one that complained, despite it having been her idea to listen to him. Allison didn’t say anything, even though she hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. 

Bender knew his reputation wouldn’t be damaged any if he was caught in the halls during detention, so he took one for the team. That’s what he tried to make himself believe, anyway. Really, he hadn’t wanted Allison in trouble for something that wasn’t her fault. He didn’t know why.

After he had managed to get back into the library, they all smoked his pot, save for Allison. He was wondering where she was. After Andy’s little show, he went to look for her, and found her alone, on her knees, singing to herself in a way that voiced the melancholy she had in her eyes on the night he first saw her. 

She didn’t notice him, and he had a feeling he didn’t want to be noticed. He decided to leave her be. A few minutes later, it dawned on him why she had looked so scared that night; she was talking about something she didn’t want anyone else to know, just with her eyes, in her very own language—one Bender was just beginning to understand. 

When she did speak, he hadn’t counted on her being a liar. She really was a mystery to him, more so to everyone else. He couldn’t understand why she had decided to start speaking in front of everyone, why she squeaked when she was nervous, why she was never home, or why she carried around that bag. 

In the end, he left detention with more questions than answers. That odd feeling lingered. He still wanted to know more about her, and he had a feeling he would get to. He didn’t know how, but he knew he would see her again. 

On the walk home, he realized his knife was missing. 

————

The fourth time Bender saw Allison was under the bleachers at school. 

He went there when he was skipping class or getting high—which is to say, a lot. On this particular day, he was skipping, and the only thing he had to smoke were cigarettes. He thought he’d be alone, but he wasn’t going to complain when he saw those dark eyes looking back at him. 

She said something before he had the chance, but it wasn’t with her words or her eyes. It was her smile.

“I knew you’d be back here,” her smile said, which was just about as mischievous as it could get. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hey, crazy.” He smiled back and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket. He put one in his mouth, then held the box out towards Allison. “Want one?”

She shook her head. He lit his cigarette and sat down beside her. She turned her head towards him, and a smile crept across her face again. It was like she couldn’t wait to tell him what she came for.

Bender decided not to ask. He had a feeling the conversation would be over too soon if he did, and he found that he rather enjoyed her company, from the few times he’d seen her. He took a drag of his cigarette. 

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know, rich coming from me, whatever. It’s different with me, though. No one expects me to go to class, anyways,” he said. It was true. Teachers had started to mark him absent even when he was there. They didn’t even bother to look anymore.

“No one notices if I’m there or not,” she said, putting emphasis on every word, “Everyone ignores me, even my parents.”

Everything slides into place. So that’s it. That’s why she’s wandering the streets all day, and why they had crossed paths so much. She was tired of being ignored. Bender had a feeling it was a bit more than just being ignored, though. Neglect, more like, if she feels the need to carry so much shit around in her bag. 

He doesn’t ask about her parents. “So you’re like me, huh?” he asked, sarcasm heavy. “You don’t matter at this school. You could disappear forever, and it wouldn’t make any difference, as our jock friend so eloquently put it.” 

“Guess so.” There was peculiar smile on her face.

“So,” Bender says, “so, what made you wait under these disgusting fucking bleachers just for me?”

Her smile changed back to that mischievous one, real big, all teeth. There was a spark in her eyes. She turned where Bender couldn’t see her bag and started digging through it. He heard her make a noise that sounded like she was proud of herself. 

She turned around, still smiling. She was holding his knife. She opened it with a click. Bender thought that maybe he should get angry, take it from her, yell, or something else like that. He didn’t want to, though. 

“What’d you take it for?” he said. She seemed surprised. He guessed that Allison thought he would get angry too.

“Felt like it. Steal things,” she said. “Want it back?”

“Keep it,” he told her, “I’ve got plenty more. You need it, if you’re going to be walking around alone all the time. Protect you from guys like me.” He smiled at her. 

“Thank you,” said the warm look in her eyes. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Bender had almost gone through his whole pack of cigarettes when Allison pulled something out of her bag. It was a drawing pad and a pen.

She flipped it open to a page in the middle. It was a drawing of a house in red ink. There were tears on the paper, like she had been drawing so hard she ripped through. It all screamed anger.

“My house,” she wrote. “Come over sometime?”

Allison had done some surprising things in the short time Bender had known her, but that was almost shocking to him. It shouldn’t have been, really, but it was. He started for a minute before answering. 

“Sure.” he said. “I take it your folks won’t mind?”

“They’re not home right now,” she tells him, “but they wouldn’t care if they were. They don’t care, ever.”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “Okay. Tomorrow?”

She smiles and gives him a nod. Putting her things back in her bag, she gets up and walks backwards away from him, before turning and heading back to wherever she needed to be. 

“Huh,” Bender says, to himself. 

————

The fifth time Bender saw Allison was at her house. 

It wasn’t far from his. She had given him directions from the school, and he walked nearly the same way he did to get to his. He would’ve just walked home with her, but a friend of his wanted to meet after school. Said friend wasn’t the type of person he wanted Allison to be around. 

Her house was identical to the one in the drawing, but with less red. It was white and looked pretty average—not poor, but not rich either, and definitely not like Claire’s. He knocked on the door. She opened it and let him inside, wordlessly. 

“Hey,” he said, looking around. She didn’t answer, but she started walking towards what Bender assumed was her room. He followed her, and when he walked inside, he was met with yet another surprise. 

He thought Allison would have dark walls scattered with drawings. He’d imagined shelves full of trinkets and things that she’d stolen. He’d expected her floor to be nearly invisible because she had clothes and trash strewn all over it. 

It was the exact opposite. Her walls were white, and there were no shelves at all, only a bed, a dresser, and a chair. There were no drawings in sight, or trinkets, or clothes or, well, anything really. It scared him, just a little bit. 

She threw herself onto her bed and looked at Bender like she was inviting him to do the same. He did, in a bit less dramatic way. He turned to face her, but she was staring at the ceiling.

“Why’s there nothing in here?” he asked. “Even my room has more shit than this.”

“This isn’t my home,” she said. “It’s just a house.”

He didn’t answer, but he got it. She’s right. Allison doesn’t belong here, in a normal house in Shermer, Illinois, with shitty parents who don’t care about her. She belongs in some big city somewhere, where people can see her for what she really is—an artist. 

That’s what Bender believes, anyway. 

“Got any beer?” he asked. 

“Fridge,” she said. 

He got up, walked into her kitchen, and opened the fridge. Unlike his, there were other things in it besides beer—some leftovers, and fruit, and things like that. He grabbed a six-pack and brought it back to Allison’s dull room. 

A few beers later, he’s a little tipsy, so maybe that’s why he told Allison that she should move somewhere far away from Shermer and be a famous artist, like you can just decide to be famous. His mouth was a little loose.

“Listen, listen,” he said, “You should save up some money, and you should go to L.A. or New York, or something. Make some drawings, and they’ll eat that shit up. They’ll love it. You draw good, and you draw weird, and that’s everything they want.” 

She listened to him with a faint smile on her face.

“Hell, you can be the next Picasso. Or Van Gogh! Or Leonardo—uh, whatever his name is. You get the point. People are gonna be buying it for thousands of dollars. “The awarding-winning painter, Allison Reynolds!” Do painters win awards? I don’t know. Anyways. That could be you, is my point.”

“You’re funny,” she said. 

“Yeah? I try,” he paused. “You’re weird, you know? But in a good way.”

She gave him a look.

“In an interesting way. In a way that makes me want to know more about you. You make me feel weird. And I think it’s ‘cause I wanna know more about you.” He sat down beside her.

He looked at her eyes, and her hair, and her lips. He wanted to kiss her. He’s anything if not blunt, and tipsy, so he doesn’t see a problem with asking.

“Can I kiss you? Normally, I don’t ask things like that, I just do it, but I wanted to ask you.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling, “If you want to.”

He kissed her. The weird feeling went away, and instead, he felt right. 

————

The first time Allison saw him, he didn’t know she was there. 

He had gotten into a street fight, and there was a crowd circling around him. Allison happened to be in it. She watched him fight, and she noticed that he was better at it than anyone their age really should be. It was like he’d been doing it since he was a kid. 

She was mesmerized with him. She had no idea why. He had the man he was fighting on the ground now. He was towering over him, throwing punch after punch, but there was a sort of desperation in his face that made Allison almost feel bad for him. 

It was the look of someone who knew what would happen if they didn’t fight. If he wasn’t on top of that man, he would be the one getting beat. He thought fighting was the only thing he could do because it was what his father had taught him. 

Allison decided that she liked him. They’d never met, but he gave her a feeling she couldn’t quite place. She kept seeing him around after that. She didn’t mean to, but she would run into him in places she’d always been, but had never noticed him before. 

When she saw him in the hall at school, it gave her an idea. She figured he was probably the type to get into trouble, so he’d probably be at detention. She made up an excuse for why she had to go to detention just to see if he was there.

He was. She stole his knife so she could use it as an excuse to see him again.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and that you’re having a wonderful day! <3 
> 
> comments and kudos are always welcome and appreciated! :)


End file.
